


Oil on the Fire

by TLara (larissabernstein)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Fluff, Hanukkah, Humor, Jewish Character, K/S Advent Calendar, M/M, Vulcan Biology, screwball comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larissabernstein/pseuds/TLara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What time could be more suitable to win the other man's heart than the christmas season? But Vulcan biology and captainly communication skills are serious obstacles... Slightly angsty screwball comedy with - I promise! - a fluffy end.</p><p>Originally published on LJ for the K/S Advent Calendar 2012 (10 Dec).<br/>Beta: eimeo.<br/>The accompanying artwork by tprillahfiction can be found <a href="http://tprillahfiction.livejournal.com/122653.html">here</a>. Check it out - it's gorgeous!!</p><p>My heartfelt thanks go to tprillah, eimeo, and the organisers of K/S Advent, arminaa and Amanda Warrington.</p><p>(Reposted because this fic had fallen victim to my purging my online presence in 2013.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tprillahfiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tprillahfiction/gifts).



It is that time of the year again, Kirk thinks, as he makes his way down the corridor to the turbolift with a distinctive swing in his step. The whole ship is buzzing with special excitement, a tangible sense of joyful anticipation lighting up faces and easing lines of tension that come naturally with service on a 430-strong vessel that seems to attract unbelievable adventures and strangest dangers like no other starship in the fleet. Yes, he knows it of course, this crew is the most amazing he could wish for; they give their best time and again, are loyal to their captain and commanders and strongly believe in the mission that has led them out here where no Humans - and the same can be said of most races that live and work on the ship - have gone before. It unites them, this passion to discover new worlds, to learn new things - not least also about themselves. Nothing provides a better mirror than looking into the face of a hitherto unknown civilisation, far away from one’s own home.

Home. Kirk lets out a deep breath and steps into the empty turbolift. “Bridge,” he says and closes his eyes, savouring the intimate moment this short ride offers him. Yes, this is home. A living world of its own, men and machine working together to make possible a voyage that his ancestors were only able to dream about. Maybe it is a little unfair to his family and friends back on Earth, but Kirk has long ago stopped thinking of his birth place as home. No, with all due respect to the people and places that have shaped his character and allowed him to become the man he is now, it has been clear since the day he first stepped aboard a starship. The cadet then knew it as well as the accomplished captain is convinced now, that he was destined to be a nomad among the stars, with a crew that is as dear to him as a family. This feeling has only intensified and proven itself on the Enterprise. His ship. His crew.

It is only two weeks until Christmas, and while many crew members are not religious at all or have their own sets of beliefs and traditions, including their various holidays all year round, there is a silent agreement on most Starfleet vessels - admittedly, most Starfleet vessels feature a majority of Human crew members - to celebrate a non-denominational version of this winter holiday together, on this moving world devoid of seasons, a chance to let go of the usual stress and enjoy the relaxed and pleasant side of this life in such a diverse and colourful community. Out here, where they are each other’s home and family. Some exchange gifts, many attend the annual party, but practically everyone is simply grateful for being alive and well despite the challenges they encounter on an almost daily basis.

The doors open and Kirk is greeted by a bridge that is beaming with good humour. He nods as Spock stands up to vacate the captain’s chair and comes to stand beside him.

“Captain.”

Kirk smiles and lets his gaze wander about the bridge before he allows it to settle on his first officer’s face. “Anything unusual, Mr Spock, apart from the contagiously bright atmosphere here?”

A slanted eyebrow shoots up as expected, but the dark voice stays neutral and matter-of-fact. “All systems are functioning, long range sensor readings confirm that we will reach our calculated best position for quasar observation in 15 hours. The astrophysics lab is standing by to receive further data, the first analyses have been transmitted to Headquarters as ordered. Gamma ray readings are evaluated continuously.” A beat. “I have, however, no positive data concerning any changes in ship’s atmosphere. Bio filters are working as required. No reports of any contagious particles.” And there it is, the faintest crinkling at the corners of Spock’s eyes.

“Thank you, Mr Spock,” Kirk says, and maybe there is a little too much warmth in his gratitude for a mere status report, but he cannot help it. “I knew I could rely on you.”

Maybe it was not too much after all. An answering warmth shines in the dark eyes. “With your permission, sir, my presence might be required in the astrophysics lab for the remainder of my shift…”

“Sure, sure.” And for sure the Vulcan who turns to go has a most agreeable backside. - Where did that thought come from?  
“Oh, and Spock?”

“Captain?”

“Chess, 2100 hours?”

The posture becomes rigid as he turns again to face Kirk. Is that an actual twitch on Spock’s face?  
“Sir, I must politely decline.”

“Oh, well. Then another time. But don’t pull an all-nighter in the labs, we’re all prepared for that quasar in the best possible way. No need for extra-duty.”

Another nod and then he is gone, but traces of his presence are still preserved by the captain’s chair, if only to the man who wants to detect them. It is quite possible that Kirk feels an almost lascivious spark of pleasure as he sits down and soaks up the mostly just imagined warmth of the other’s body, and there’s something forbidden and, Kirk realises with a frown, a little creepy in this feeling. But perhaps his senses are simply heightened by the generally festive mood and the palpable anticipation. Spock might be immune to Christmas and the illogical traditions that surround the festivities, and might even shy away from any participation as much as possible; this much has Kirk already learnt from the past two Christmases aboard the Enterprise (and never ever in his life will he repeat his mistake of forcing Spock to pull a Christmas cracker with him, especially not this year). But Kirk will not let that stop him from making good use of this time. The few weeks leading up to the holidays are deliberately filled with star mapping and scientific exploration without any overly pronounced risk of going too close to the Neutral Zone, stepping on Klingon toes or actively searching out new life forms - who might not always be too interested in making new friends. Of course, one can never know what will come their way… But the brass at least seem to have gotten the message that even the best crew needs a break to strengthen their sense of community outside of complicated missions and red alert situations, to get to know each other. Barring any ill-timed surprises, this should be _the_ opportunity then. If looks and fleeting touches were anything to go by… - Hell, scratch that! If their whole episode on Vulcan and the physical evidence that pointedly poked Kirk in the thigh during their whole fight - and has at least been visible at several close-contact occasions since then - were anything to go by… Kirk shifts in his seat. Yes, it is about time to act on that evidence. Lest he start to check out his first officer’s ass on the bridge and daydream on duty.


	2. Act 2

Three days. Three damn days! And no clue what has caused this sudden withdrawal. And despite a more than satisfying scientific success and the holiday craze that, with the last serious task out of the way, threatens to completely overtake the ship any minute, something is amiss, but Kirk cannot find what exactly has gone wrong or rather: what exactly he has done wrong to be all but ignored by his first officer apart from their shared shifts.

“Jim, have you got a minute?” But the question is rhetorical at best, because Doctor McCoy has already caught up with him and takes his arm to lead him into the quietest corner of the officer’s mess.

“The answer is no, Bones, you won’t talk me into letting you mix the drinks at the Christmas party.” The smile feels contrived, but it must suffice for his friend.

“Haha. Very funny, Captain sir. No, it’s about Spock.”

“Spock?”

“Yeah,” Bones rolls his eyes, “you know, the pointy eared guy, works on your bridge-“

“Bones, quit it. What’s wrong with Spock?” Maybe something is indeed off after all.

“Hell if I know for sure! Have you noticed anything strange about him lately?” The blue eyes are piercing as if they would like to diagnose Spock’s condition by examining Kirk’s soul.

“Well, we haven’t really talked off duty in the last few days. He had no time for chess or dinner… You know, the whole quasar observation must have been pretty exciting for him and-“

But Bones waves him off. “So, he hasn’t drowned you in science babble? Shared his _fascinating_ findings with you over chess? Well, neither has he insulted me. Nor even acknowledged my existence! And he hasn’t eaten in three days, Jim. I checked the mess computer for his dietary records.”

“You mean…” And Kirk does not try to keep the concern from showing anymore.

“I mean,” the doctor says almost triumphantly, as if his diagnostic gaze has finally found what it was looking for, “that something is up with our resident Vulcan. And you, Captain, are going to find out - and fix it if necessary.”

The clap on Kirk’s shoulder has something annoyingly patronising about it, but he misses his chance for a captainly rebuke or at least a quip among friends, as McCoy is already hurrying back into the crowd in front of the coffee slot. The vague feeling of guilt, however, keeps disturbing him throughout the day, and he doesn’t even know how he has come to this. Has he pushed his luck too hard? Has he done something to scare Spock off?

It is not so much a question of luck, but of determination - and a well-placed foot between closing doors - to finally end up in the turbolift together with Spock. It is the same determination that forces Kirk’s hand down on the manual switch that freezes the cabin to a sudden halt.

“Captain, may I enquire why you choose to squeeze yourself into a lift only to stop it two seconds later?”

There is neither sarcasm nor any hint of annoyance in Spock’s voice, just honest puzzlement, so Kirk’s anger dissipates in the wink of an eye and a puff of breath. The absurdity of the situation is obvious, but he cannot stop himself from asking. “I was just wondering… Would you care to join me for dinner tonight? I… I’ve missed your company.”

There is joy on the austere features, this much can’t be hidden easily, and a light seems to brighten the dark eyes from within. But Spock is fidgeting, there is no other word for it. He is fidgeting in a most un-Vulcan way and finally hides his hands behind his back as if to mask his nervousness, eyes downcast.

“Captain… Jim, I am sorry, but - but I must decline. It is most thoughtful of you, but…”

“But what? There is no experiment going on in the labs, no urgent analysis waiting for your input; I’ve checked. You haven’t eaten in three days and you’ve been avoiding me. You declined my invitations to chess, dinner, the gym and even to discuss our latest scientific findings.” Kirk forces himself to take a calming breath and lower his voice. Shouting at Spock is not how he has hoped to take their friendship to the next level. Damn his ego, damn his pride - if Spock wants him to spell it out, then so be it. “Have I done anything wrong that you find it necessary to avoid me? I thought we…, well, you know… that certain feelings-“ At this, Spock visibly winces. “Okay, certain _things_ between us… are mutual…?”

“Captain, we are blocking the turbolift. I… I am occupied this evening and for the next four. Be assured that it has nothing to do with your person. It is merely a personal matter I must attend to. If you will allow me…”

The turbolift wall behind Kirk’s shoulder seems to have become the most interesting object that Spock’s eyes can fix their gaze on, and a slightly trembling, cool hand closes over Kirk’s to turn up the switch and set the lift in motion again. Their closeness is intoxicating and arousing, but there is a distinct note of fear and barely suppressed shame that transmits itself loudly through their connected hands. So close! Kirk looks up to desperately find any clue on Spock’s face that could help him - could help them -, but there is nothing that Kirk has not already felt through their points of contact. So, Spock is ashamed - of their friendship? Of feelings that go beyond this friendship? Are they back to _this_?

“And you can’t tell me what your personal matter is…? Am I such a stranger to you?” So close. If he could simply give in to the temptation and kiss Spock right here, kiss that damn fear and shame right off his handsome face. Show him the validity of emotions. For god’s sake, they’ve already rolled in the sand poking each other with raging hard-ons!

And Spock must have “heard” Kirk’s thoughts or maybe it is only coincidence, because he snatches his hand away as if burnt. The lift comes to a halt again, but this time simply by reaching Deck 5.

“No Vulcan would choose to talk about such a private matter. You would undoubtedly find my choice of behaviour illogical and distasteful.”

The words echo in his ears, but it takes several moments before it registers with Kirk that he is still standing in the now empty turbolift, sweating, breathing heavily and in an inner and outer disarray that could arouse strange suspicions in any passing crew members just how much their captain loves the Enterprise.


	3. Act 3

It is the seventh night that the universe seems to be out to smack him in the face with the ship-wide holiday mood and general giddiness, then pick apart each of his own high aspirations and plans for his Christmas with Spock, until there’s nothing left of it but the very absurdity of the idea, and kick him in the butt with the thought of a friendship that might be nothing but sand running through his hands.

Kirk does not possess a Vulcan’s acute sense of hearing, but thanks to the cruel ship designer that placed his quarters next to his first officer’s, only separated by - of all things!- a shared fresher and head, he is all too able to understand what’s going on the other side of the bulkhead. Spock has got company, female company. Laughter rings through the rooms, and his mind cannot help accompanying the unwanted audio transmission with images, born of jealousy and a certain degree of masochism. If he can catch every other word and sound - admittedly, pressing his ear against the bathroom door that leads to Spock’s side helps - then the Vulcan was just as able, and even more so thanks to his superior hearing, to witness whatever Kirk did with his conquests in the past. The thought makes him feel guilty and a little nauseous, and it can only be due to the sudden need to punish himself for putting Spock through such torture, that he does not move an inch but holds his breath to listen closely. But how can he be so sure that Spock actually cared about the sounds he heard from Kirk’s quarters? That he suffered just as terribly as Kirk does now?

The voice is rich and deep, almost a purr. “It was most charming of you, Mr Spock, to invite me to participate. It has been so long since I…” Who is this woman?

“I am honoured that you chose to accept my invitation, but I cannot take credit for the idea. It was my mother who first persuaded me to do this and then actually made me aware of our connection and asked me to keep you in mind when the time comes; it was logical to honour her wish.” Not a casual fling then, but a connection with family ties and laced with motherly approval. No, it can’t be! It must not be!

“Shall we begin? Be careful with the oil, please, it might get on your fur.” Fur???

Velvet laughter again. “Don’t worry. Oil won’t bug me. I’m just glad you don’t use candles like my husband always did. The wax is a real pain in the fur. Last time I could not touch anything for days afterwards, everything kept sticking to my body.”

Kirk shakes his head, because this is surely just a strange dream, born of his sleep-deprived state and an increasingly unhealthy obsession with Spock. Serves him right for eavesdropping! And he can’t make much sense of Spock’s answering words now. Is that Vulcan? It sounds ritual and recited. No, Kirk might be in the middle of the weirdest nightmare he has ever experienced, but his knowledge of Vulcan is still good enough. Maybe it’s an obscure, ancient dialect. Or - the language of Spock’s mysterious furry guest? Can it be that he is so interested in her that he has learnt her language? The thought makes Kirk’s head spin. There’s a reason after all why _his_ Vulcan skills are so exceptionally good.

And why has that girl just replied with “a man”? What goes on behind that damn door? There is silence that is almost more threatening than their kinky conversation before. Then the woman speaks again, and she seems to be genuinely moved. “Oh, Mr Spock, it is more beautiful than I could have imagined. I definitely owe you - and your mother - for that experience. I thought, I’d never do that again after Sal’s death.”

Okay, there comes a point in every nightmare when it is about time to fucking wake up. Spock, the clandestine playboy for grieving widows? No, Kirk’s mind screams, no, that’s only his own subconscious conjuring up wild images. Payback’s a bitch when it transforms dreams into feverish parodies of one’s own trysts.

“Mmmm, this is delicious. Sweet and heavy. What a sinful pleasure, but this time of the year we are free to indulge.” Enough already!

“I can assure you, there is more. My father reminded me that you are very fond of cream.” Stop it! This is insane!

“I might seem clumsy, but I just can’t get the right twist and turn with my paws.” Help!!

“It is illogical to see limitations in one’s species when it is simply the tool that is at fault. Let me rotate it for you.”

No, Captain Kirk most certainly does not faint on the floor of the fresher. He does not cling to the bulkhead as if his life depended on it. He does not crawl back into his own quarters, hands covering his ears and begging whatever deities there might be to wake him up.

It is the familiar sound of Spock’s lyre, floating through the air and into the captain’s quarters, that makes him become aware that there’s more than only a slight chance that the scene he has just witnessed was not a dream, but nightmarish reality. It’s a hard punch to the gut, but maybe he has only imagined that there could be more between him and Spock? Maybe he has just seen the other man through his own delusional wishes, not wanting to accept Spock’s repeated polite rejections, interpreting them as just another way of flirting, prolonging a dance that was never meant to lead anywhere?

“Lieutenant Katz, I trust you will be discreet about this evening…? I cannot let this part of my life become known among the crew. It is so devoid of any logic or reason.” Yes, this sounds just like Spock. And Lt Katz is the dark lady in question. Astrophysics. Caitian.

“It will remain our secret. I can’t thank you enough for what we shared tonight. Chag sameach, Mr Spock.” Is that Caitian for “live long and prosper”, “let’s do that again some time” or “I love you”?

“Chag sameach, M’Purr.” At second thought, Kirk doesn’t want to know the translation. There is just one hope that is left for him: that Doctor McCoy is still awake and has enough potent booze for him to kill a decent number of brain cells.


	4. Act 4

“Good grief, Jim, what’s happened to you? Wrestled with a Gorn?” McCoy is not only awake over a stack of data disks and reports, but also still sober enough to welcome his nightly visitor by waving a tricorder into his direction. “Elevated blood pressure, stress hormone ratings off the scale and don’t get me started on your psych readings…”

That’s the last thing Kirk wants to hear now. “Bones, I need a friend, not a doctor. Care to pour me a glass?”

There’s that piercing blue look again that could rival even the best-tuned Feinberger, turning Kirk inside out and examining him cell for cell. A glass, however, is filled and pushed into his hands, and the mellow bourbon burning down his throat sobers him up in a matter of seconds, making this night very real and even drowning out feelings of hurt and anger in favour of an all-encompassing foolishness.

“You know, what’s wrong with Spock, Bones?” The empty glass is cold and heavy in his hand, as he puts it on the table with an audible clink, before he continues, “Nothing’s wrong with him, but there seems to be a great deal wrong with me. Got a pill for a delusional captain?”

The doctor scratches the first beginnings of stubble. “For a delusional captain? Hm, don’t let us go into that territory, Jim. But for a troubled friend? Yeah, but it’s not a pill that will cure you of your infatuation with Spock, I can only offer you a willing ear and maybe an advice. But first let’s get our facts together. Spock’s been acting strangely, that’s a given, and I don’t mean his usual strange self, no sir. So, where does your crisis fit in here? It’s not the first time that he has retreated into his shell and shut up like an Aldebaran shellmouth. Think about that. You might have the key.”

Kirk closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, one hand still toying with the glass on the table. When he opens them, McCoy’s eyes are still stubbornly fixed on his, demanding an answer, but a softer, comforting look has taken the edge out of his glare. “Well, cat got your tongue?”

A self-deprecating snort. “You can say that. A Caitian astrophysicist, to be precise. Spock’s rejected my advances in order to spend the night with Lt M’Purr Katz. Trust me, you don’t want any details. That was beyond weird.” The doctor’s face scrunches up in a frown. “No, no, Bones, don’t get me wrong, not weird because she’s a Caitian. Weird because, well, you should have heard their talk. And I’m not a prude.”

Bones leans forward and rests his chin on his fist. “Ooookay, Captain, so unless they invited you in, I suppose you eavesdropped at Spock’s door? Case closed. How could I refute an argument that is so heavily backed by the most scientific methods? Seriously, Jim, have you ever seen - or heard - her with him before? Have you explicitly heard them going at it? And did you just say M’Purr Katz, of all beings on this ship? I knew her late husband, Sal Katz-Grayson. Tragic story.”

“Yes, but… Sorry, I can’t really follow your train of thoughts. It was pretty clear to me that they have some secret tryst going on. I won’t repeat that whole oil and candle talk for you, Bones. He even spoke Caitian for her. Any clue what _chag sameach_ means?”

It is a slow but steady grin that starts to spread across the tired face. “Yes, it means that there’s nothing going on between them. Except old-fashioned courtesy between cousins, and maybe fried donuts.” He waves Kirk off. “You’ll understand in good time. In the meantime, take my medical advice, get a good night’s sleep and study the Terran calendar tomorrow. Here’s a paper pocket version, with compliments from your trusted country doctor. As much as I could have done without your story tonight - seriously, Jim, did you just fall off the turnip truck?- I’m pretty sure I found the cause and cure for both yours and Spock’s ailment. Nothing life-threatening, if it gets treated soon. Merely a malfunction of his emotional part and your logical.”

*

There are already several red circles on the paper as Kirk checks the pocket calendar for the fourth time, trying hard to see a consistent pattern. Spock started to act strangely seven days ago. It’s about one week till Christmas, roughly ten days till Kwanzaa. Hanukkah is almost over. There’s Saturnalia and Winter Solstice and… Day of the Radishes?? No, let’s get back to the personal timeline. Spock mentioned his mother during that confusing conversation - this meeting must have been on their way to the Babel conference. And then there was that one time when he refused food, acted weirdly and retreated into a shell of silence and shame before… _No Vulcan would choose to talk about such a private matter. You would undoubtedly find my behaviour illogical and distasteful._

Of course! Kirk smacks his forehead with his flat hand, as it dawns on him. A short count does nothing but confirm the suspicion. Seven months have passed since their dramatic fight on the sands of Vulcan, since Spock’s traumatically aborted pon farr. It can’t be a coincidence. Taking his hybrid Vulcan/Human nature in consideration, why should his condition not return after seven months, demanding completion? Spock’s _fear and shame_ were what Kirk felt in the turbolift. It all makes suddenly so much more sense. And of course, Bones would know that Kirk is the key to _fix it_ , but would never spell it out for him out of respect for Spock’s privacy - and because he wanted Kirk to find the solution himself. _Not life-threatening, if treated soon._ Boy, is Spock going to get a treatment! And what should Kirk make of the whole Katz scene? The interaction was more than strange, but maybe it was really nothing? Bones called her a _cousin_. Well, as long as she is not a kissing cousin. Or did she try to proposition him like Nurse Chapel seven months ago and Spock was simply too polite to kick out a woman on the spot? Well, he can certainly see why she would at least try her luck.

Kirk’s mind is reeling and bold determination straightens his posture and turns his steps into purposeful strides. This is what he had in mind for the winter holidays after all, to get everything out in the open and act on their mutual desire. If biology has beat him to it, so be it. It only speaks in favour of his noble friend that he wanted to spare him the alleged danger of pon farr! But never let it be said that a Kirk shied away from a challenge - there is no such thing as a no-win scenario for the willing.


	5. Act 5

The unlocked door comes as surprise this night, as Kirk has already envisaged himself boldly using the captain’s override or breaking into Spock’s quarters the old-fashioned way. Instead, it opens with a soft swoosh as soon as he comes close to the sensor and nearly makes him stumble with the unexpected momentum. Spock is a dark shadow kneeling on the meditation mat, elegant and unapproachable. But his eyes stay closed, his figure unmoving even several minutes after Kirk’s unspectacular entrance. The quarters look as puristic and well-ordered as always, but something is different. A rich, sweet scent permeates the hot air, familiar and tempting, but Kirk cannot make out its source. The minutes tick by and there’s that little voice inside him that sheepishly insists that he is about to make a fool of himself. Maybe he should have talked his plan through with Bones to be sure or…

“Captain?”

This is his cue. “Spock, hear me out. I know what’s going on with you and I am here. Willingly and of my own volition. And - no, don’t interrupt me - you won’t get rid of me with another rejection. I’m not here for chess or dinner or ship-related business. I know what you need and what you want, and - no, let me finish - I want what you want and we’ll do it together. You wanted to spare me your illogical and emotional behaviour, but - no, hear me out, I say - I want all of you, even the illogical and emotional parts of you that you would rather hide.” A deep breath. “So, you tell me what you want and how and when, and we do it. What do you say, Spock?”

“Good evening, Captain.” The dark eyes are clear and focused, and is that amusement that shines through?

“Erm, yes. Is that all you have to say?”

“Do you know what you offer?”

“What I should have offered last time.”

“Indeed. It would have been more appropriate than the Christmas cracker.”

“…?”

“Jim, why are you here?”

“Isn’t it a matter of biology?”

“Biology?” Two eyebrows almost disappear behind the dark fringe, but for once not due to calculated provocation.

Does Kirk really need to spell it out? “Vulcan biology.”

“I beg your pardon?” Spock gets to his feet.

The poor man must be already quite impaired by his condition. “Erm, the biology of Vulcans?”

Spock cocks his head to one side. “I would not call it that way. _Ritual_ is a more apt term.”

“Good, I will call it what you call it. And I am aware that you wanted to spare me possible ill effects and dangers or the shock of irrational behaviour. But Spock - this is not necessary! I appreciate your deep concern for me, but I know what I am here for.”

“Do you, Captain? Well, indeed some games that are part of the tradition certainly lack any logic and reason. Dreidling for chocolate coins is definitively the height of illogic. And concerning the dangers - yes, there are some aspects for which Dr McCoy would have me courtmartialed if I persuaded you to participate. He is very concerned about your diet.”

Yes, Spock is definitely impaired by his state, Kirk can see that. The robed figure has minutely come closer during their exchange and now Kirk can feel Spock’s presence almost looming above him. It is a closeness they have shared time and again, on and off duty, but there is something especially enticing and primal about it now. The die is cast and there is no way to back out, no way to revoke willingness without losing face and friend. It is a state of vulnerability that Kirk has voluntarily sought, uncharted space that is nevertheless familiar and desired. Relinquishing of the burden of command to give himself over into trusted hands. He might look into that later to examine its causes and dynamics - at the moment, however, there is only the knowledge that he has finally taken the necessary step to convince Spock of his serious intentions. Shouldn’t they start saving his life now?

“Your decision. It is time, Jim. Let us begin with the ritual.” The voice is husky and strong. “There is a flask of _elmin_ , a scented Vulcan oil, on my bedside table. Bring it.”

Things are getting serious.

Kirk finds the delicate flask and his hands are shaking. Spock takes it out of his grasp, strong Vulcan hands fleetingly caressing warm Human ones. Then he leads Kirk over to the coffee table and pushes him gently into one of the low chairs at its side. There is an intricately crafted candelabrum on the table, eight arms holding one row of transparent little oil jars, a ninth arm in their centre, sticking out by its height, with another oil jar. He is sure that he has never seen this candelabrum in Spock’s quarters before, but the shape is familiar. Spock begins to fill each little jar with _elmin_ , a task he completes in the same diligent and efficient way as he would man his science console or conduct a vital experiment in the lab. Then he places tiny wicks, each held by a floating cork disk, into these miniature oil lamps. Kirk watches him with growing bewilderment. This is not simply a romantic act of providing some candlelight for their pon farr ritual. This… _this_ is the ritual! Spock, however, seems to ignore his shocked expression, puts on a skullcap and calmly lights a beeswax candle.

“Jim, would you like to light the _shamash_ first? Just this one lamp in the middle, which is higher than the others. We are not allowed to use the hanukkah lamps in any way for a purpose, so if we enjoy the light this candelabrum spends, it will be the _shamash_ which takes the whole credit. Illogical, I know, but bear with me.”

It is an almost mechanical movement, all thoughts and questions muted, and then a single light shines brightly. Again Spock touches his hands, takes the candle and recites a short sentence in a language Kirk doesn’t understand. But it is not Caitian - this much is clear.

Kirk clears his throat. “Do I need to say anything?” When has his voice become so hoarse?

“You are not _required_ to say anything, Jim, but if you’d like to you can affirm my words and actions with _amen_.”

“Amen.”

Then the candle wanders from one little oil lamp to the next until all bear flames, their wicks saturated with oil, feeding the light. Spock blows out the beeswax candle and recites a paragraph in the same language.

So this is what it’s all about. Hanukkah. An _eight days_ long Jewish festival in December. It can be found in any Terran calendar.


	6. Act 6

“You’re Jewish?” Half a statement, half a question, it is the first sound that cuts through the silence and it does this a little too loudly in the afterglow of a contemplatively festive act.

Spock sits down in the chair opposite Jim’s. “According to _halacha_ \- Jewish ritual law - and according to my mother, yes.”

“But you’ve never said anything! There are other Jewish crew members aboard - we could have organised a Hanukkah celebration for you.”

“That would have missed the point. I have only invited one crew member to light the _hanukkiyah_ with me before, but she is a member of my mother’s family, Lt M’Purr Katz-Grayson. Born a Caitian, she converted to Judaism to wed my mother’s nephew; but my motivation was not to remind her of a religious observance. I doubt she would have celebrated Hanukkah alone. Rather, my mother wanted to give something back to M’Purr that she had lost with the death of her husband: a connection to a home where she is still welcome, still seen as a family member. No matter where her career will take her, the connection will stay intact. When my mother gave me the old _hanukkiyah_ , she… persuaded me strongly to observe the ritual this year, regardless whether I believe in the concepts on which it is based. I do not believe in deities or miracles, Jim, be they part of Human or ancient Vulcan culture. She wanted me to embrace my maternal, my Human heritage, its illogic, its absurdity. Its emotional bond. Adding her concern for M’Purr to my tasks was her insurance that I would really do it. For this, I am grateful.”

There are many things Kirk should say, wants to say, but it comes more easily to talk about this new discovery of Spock’s Jewish roots. “Lady Amanda is a wise woman, Spock. Has she observed Jewish customs on Vulcan?”

“She still does, as far as possible. She is very talented in unearthing forgotten Vulcan rituals and concepts that bear fascinating similarities to Jewish beliefs and customs. This undermines any societal attempt to discourage her from observing her lifestyle.”

The flames of the _hanukkiyah_ dance in Spock’s eyes, tiny orange and yellow tongues in pools of chocolate that demand Kirk’s attention.

“So, you are not in pon farr?” It is a stupid question, and Kirk knows it the very moment the words leave his lips, but he must be sure now. Spock winces a little at the word itself, but this does not wipe the smug look from his face.

“Would you rather I were?”

“No! I know how you dread it. I just… - feel stupid?”

The corners of Spock’s mouth twitch, and for a moment Kirk thinks his first officer will break into laughter.

“I will not dispute the latter, but rest assured, knowing that you are brave and loving enough to offer yourself to me in my Time, is more than I could have wished for. It shames me that I chose to hide and ignore you instead of letting you in on my personal experiment. It frightened me, but I felt the moral obligation to honour my mother’s wish. And - I was curious how it would… feel. Such an urge is scandalous among Vulcans. I was sure your entire concept of my person would be shattered. But instead of being repulsed by my behaviour you find a creative explanation for it and offer yourself.”

Has anyone ever looked at Kirk with so much adoration? He swallows hard.

“The offer still stands, if you would have me. With or without biological imperative.”

This is what it takes. The flames flicker in eyes that appear almost black now, as Spock rises and pulls Kirk to his feet as well.

“My mother has given me the gift of a connection this year that I had merely perceived as burden before. You, Jim, have given me the gift of a home.”

The first touch of lips against lips feels a little awkward, lacking finesse. It is a pronouncedly male kiss. Male, as in: there is a strength in it that is arousingly different. Cool, elegant lips that seldom betray emotion on a face schooled to wear a mask of logic and reason, mould themselves against more agile ones. Slowly they steal some of the Human warmth, make little used facial muscles aware of their existence. Touch and pressure become movement, competing with each other, tentative and careful arguments, but with growing confidence. Tiny twitches shake up a calm surface, coaxing open what has hidden behind lines of interest. Unspoken syllables are articulated to win the argument, but there is no victor, no loser. It is a Vulcan tongue that makes the first step across the border, starts an exploration that is met with pride and joy on the other side, soon engaged in a lively discussion with its counterpart. Who is oil, who is fire? Giving and taking becomes one, feeding on and fuelling promises. Flames united in a shared breath, a stolen gasp, freely given air and energy.

Kirk is the one to break the kiss first, if only to settle them more comfortably on the carpeted floor. The lights of the _hanukkiyah_ are still bright and painting their faces and each object in Spock’s quarters with their dance of flame and shadow. “And what does us tradition want to do now?”  
  
“We could spin the _dreidel_ \- a four-sided spinning top - to battle for chocolate coins. It looks very similar to an educational toy Vulcan children use. But first I will introduce you to my homemade _latkes_ with a mountain of sour cream and _sufganiot_ \- potato pancakes and donuts fried in an obscenely unhealthy amount of oil - to commemorate the alleged miracle of the lamp in the ancient temple in Jerusalem that had only oil enough for one day, but magically burnt for eight days.”

“So that’s why you haven’t touched the food slots in the mess for days!” Kirk wraps his arms around Spock. “But what happened after these eight days, back in ancient times?”

“New oil had been produced in time to feed the flames. The temple was reinstated. At its core it was - a home.”

Spock falls silent, but Kirk is sure he can still hear the last word reverberate in the room, accompanied by the softest crackle of nine little flames and the constant background murmur of the ship. And there is something else, a warm feeling that keeps spreading in and between them: _happiness_ is too shallow a word to describe it, while _love_ is a term too fraught with age-old misunderstandings; this comedy of errors can’t do justice to the miracle they share. Yet, the body so close to his makes the situation real and literally tangible, conveys easily what words fail to cover. Whatever this is and wherever it will take them - it is right, because it is their home among the stars, built of flames.


End file.
